MAN writing WOMAN on WOMAN writing MAN

Translation:

J’ecris dans la style feministe sur Dove qui ecrit la vie de Thomas (un home).

But am I allowed?

                Is she allowed?

                                I ask aloud

                                                A loud reponse

 

:Cixous:

“woman must write woman. And man , man.”

I cannot write woman?

                I cannot right woman?

                                [But when she writes / rights man, I can]

Right?

She, meaning woman… She meaning Dove… She meaning not he / me… writing “Variation on Guilt”

Equal time equals “Weathering Out,” but does Dove? Antilove,

By me if I disagree? But I can’t

Antilove.

Je suis Narcisse.

That, I am allowed.

 

Man came first.

For he was born four years before. Or?

Nope. Good as gold. No more

Is meant by Dove; no antilove.

So, does she write his body, or

Her body in “Variation on Guilt”?

[not his]

                “Wretched little difference, he thinks, between enduring pain and waiting for pain to work on others.”

He is man. Man thinks pain, but does not

feel. [Dove does not write the pain he endures.

                She is outside…

                                                She is in the delivery room…

                                                                                She is in the future.

He is alone in his thought.]

 

Later, “Doors fly apart – no, he wouldn’t run away!” 

Man wants to run away. Man thinks more than feels. Man thinks of man.

 

Il est Narcisse.

 

                “It’s a girl, he can tell by that smirk, that strut of a mountebank!”

Man claims superiority over (wo)man. But Thomas does not feel – He “can tell.”

 

It keeps getting better, but you have to subscribe to read.

 

 

 

                And, “he  doesn’t feel a thing.”

[From some other perspective , maybe.

                                                From the future…

                                                                                From the delivery room…

                                                                                                                                From the outside.

He must feel. He would feel if he wrote

His body, even if he wrote he didn’t

Feel a thing. Man may not admit feeling,

But he feels and he knows.]

 

                “Weak with rage” is a man;

He must not feel, for feeling is

Woman, and woman is weak.

[But man is weak] –

Weak with rage…

                                Weak with thought…

                                                                Weak with what he “can tell.”

He has no choice.

 

But what about “Weathering Out”?

                “She liked mornings the best,” [and we are already closer. Dove is

not outside or in the future;

She is in the morning, we are in the morning.]

Beulah is not the uncanny stranger on display

As per Cixous

[Thomas]

                “Beulah felt just that large and placid, a lake.”

[Dove can write / right herself as woman, returning

To the body. Beulah’s body,]

Uncensored, personal, woman

                “He’d lean an ear on her belly and say Little fellow’s really talking, though to her it was more the pok-pok-pok of a fingernail tapping a thick cream lampshade.”

He had something to say.

She had something to feel.

[Dove is allowed and tells us aloud.

Thomas, silenced]

To Cixous, “There are thousands of ways

Of living one’s preganancy.”

[UNLESS I’M A MAN, I GUESS

:only one way:

outside.]

As MAN, I know DOVE knows MAN, but DOVE feels WOMAN. DOVE is WOMAN. DOVE writes / rights WOMAN.

I read WOMAN but am MAN.

Thousands of pregnancies are not mine.

I am allowed Thomas.

 

DOVE writing MAN allows me to know MAN writing WOMAN.

And if “men still have

Everything to say about their

Sexuality,”

MAN must say it, aloud.

[Je ne suis pas femme.]

Translation:

I am not woman, or

I do not come after woman.

Equal but different. She should not come after me; I her. WOMAN.

She cannot be me, but she must write / right the wrongs and rights.

So must I. MAN

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